


All Nighter

by Jay Auris (nighthawkms)



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Professors, Anal Sex, First Time, M/M, One Night Stands, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, no kaiju
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-21 12:36:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18142277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nighthawkms/pseuds/Jay%20Auris
Summary: Newt is curious about the new physics professor who shows up at the faculty mixer.





	All Nighter

There's a man standing over by the punch bowl that Newt has never seen before.

He's not very tall, but then again, everyone is, compared to Newt. He's thin but not worryingly so; he wouldn't be knocked over by a stiff breeze. He's pale, almost the shade of the beige walls around them. His haircut is from last _century_ , never mind last decade: wispy light brown follicles that flick out and catch the light as he turns his head, looking towards the other side of the room. He's bundled up in a sweater that seems out of place for April weather, checkerboard diamonds of green and black over a forest green button down. The sharpness of his cheekbones is emphasized by the way his lips are drawn tight, pursed, like he's displeased at whatever he's looking at.

The man is all by himself, right next to the drink table that's precariously weighted with an assortment of water bottles, soda cans, and a cheap plastic bowl filled with spiked punch that tastes like an the impoverished academic's wages. He doesn't seem to have caught anyone's eye around the room, and he hasn't waved to a colleague or made small talk with anyone whose come by the punch bowl in the last five minutes. He's nursing a red solo cup; Newt can see the dents in the plastic from where he's gripped it too tightly. His shoulders are a sharp V, almost at his ears, his spine straight. He's tense, Newt realizes. Any tenser and the seams of his sweater would tear. That would be a shame. Or maybe a benefit. He's not bad looking

Newt doesn't come to these academic mixers very often. His colleagues are, in a word, _boring_. Sure, they're all top scientists in their respective STEM fields, and their personalities are perfect for a classroom setting. The problem is, they're all a lot older than Newt, and far past the age where drinking to excess or blasting loud music is considered a fun time. If Newt wants excitement, he's more likely to get suggestions from his students (Last week the girl in his Advanced Invertebrate Physiology course gave him a flyer for an event called _Punk Rock the Kyriarchy_  with band names like _Sucker Punch Skidmark_  and _Nazi Murder Brigade_  and maybe he couldn't give her an A in the course for that, but she's definitely getting extra credit. That show was wild).

That's why this man sticks out like a sore thumb. He's far younger than anyone else here, probably somewhere in his early thirties, like Newt. Thing is, he definitely dresses like he's trying to fit in with the older crowd. Maybe that's his style? Is 1930s literary scholar a new hip fashion trend? It's possible. Most of the people young enough to dress like Newt are still working their way through one PhD, never mind doing their 5th part time while also reaching tenure at 33.

Newt realizes he's been staring at this man for at least a minute, but it's kind of hard to stop. Did he cut that hair himself? It's not the type of messy that Newt wears -- pushed up with gel, errant strands pointing at different angles -- the kind that he spends a half an hour trying to make look effortless (vanity, thy name is occasionally Newton Geiszler). It's more like this man took a bowl, plopped it on his head, and cut off anything that poked out. Someone did that in a cartoon from Newt's childhood. Maybe this man watched the same episode. Maybe he took it as a _good_  idea.

Still, despite the Depression era haircut and the disaster outfit, there's something compelling about this man. His eyes haven't stopped moving, searching the room. Maybe looking for a friendly face. Or at least a familiar one. He meets Newt's eyes for a brief moment, and Newt looks away, embarrassed about being caught. He hears a sigh, and when he looks up, the man has pulled his phone out of his pocket, and is looking at the screen. Probably checking what time it is, to see when he's stayed the appropriate amount to be considered 'social.'

"Trying to decide whether to go and say hello?" Newt hears. He turns to see Professor Pentecost, chair of the STEM administration, swirling a glass of something definitely not on the complimentary drink table. Where the hell did he get a cup made of actual glass? Did he bring it from his office?

Newt likes Pentecost, mostly. He's fair when appropriating funding to Newt's department, he'll take the time to listen to Newt's proposals, however crazy they might sound, and he always treats Newt the same as he treats any other professor under his supervision, no matter Newt's age. His one kid is getting her master's in robotics, with the other coming up through his undergrad in engineering. He's definitely on the more serious, somber side, but not everyone can have Newt's spontaneous genius, charisma and unique sense of humor.

"It looks like he wandered in here while playing bridge with his old Vietnam war buddies and he's too embarrassed to ask how to get back to the church hall," Newt says, drawing a metaphor so convoluted that Pentecost stares at Newt for a good ten seconds before his mouth quirks up in the barest, tiniest hint of amusement.

"Hermann Gottlieb," Pentecost says. "He prefers Doctor Gottlieb, as he's elaborated several times. New full time professor in the physics department."

"Full time?" Newt whistles, glancing at the man -- Hermann -- again. "Damn, not even an adjunct? You made me do a year as an adjunct before hiring me on full."

"You have a reputation he doesn't," Pentecost says, giving Newt a look.

Ok, maybe the research labs that Newt has worked at have a higher-than-average use of their bio-hazard showers and fire extinguishers. Who's really keeping count? (Apparently Pentecost). Newt frowns. "At least I can mingle at a party the right way."

Pentecost shrugs. "He's not exactly a people person. Likes his quiet and his space, apparently. I'm surprised he even came tonight."

"Maybe he's looking to try something new. Like socializing with other humans," Newt quips.

"Why don't you go help him out, then?" Pentecost suggests, in a tone that says it is not a suggestion. "Try to ingratiate yourself. God knows it's bound to work on someone eventually."

"Hey," Newt says. Pentecost raises an eyebrow. Newt scowls and points at Pentecost. "I like my job too much to put my foot in my mouth right now."

"Smart choice. I'll drink to that," Pentecost says, and he does, downing the rest of whatever he's drinking. "Have fun, Doctor Geiszler."

Pentecost wanders away, and Newt looks back to Hermann Gottlieb, who has put his phone away. As Newt watches, Hermann tilts his head back and drains the last of his drink from his cup. He's got a very nice neck, Newt considers, as he gets a very good view. Then Newt reconsiders, because he knows himself too well. Observations like this lead to very unfortunate, very regretful situations that Newt should probably avoid. Still. Can't fault a guy for looking.

Hermann finishing his drink is the perfect excuse for Newt to dive in and start a conversation. Newt makes his way to the punch bowl as Hermann turns towards it. "You mind pouring me one?" Newt asks, leaning his side into the table and giving Hermann his best "I am just here to interact like a normal human being" smile. Hermann glances over, blinks, and gives Newt a once-over that leaves him with a confused expression.

"Are you a professor?" Hermann asks as he takes an empty solo cup and pours punch into it. His voice has a gravel to it, somber like Pentecost.

"Yeah, who else would I be?" Newt says, taking the cup as Hermann hands it off.

"It's just, you aren't what I picture when I think 'tenured academic,'" Hermann says. Newt should probably be pissed off by that, except he's the only one who opted for skinny jeans tonight with his button-down, and his sleeves are rolled up, tats on full display. Plus he's ten years younger than the next youngest person other than Hermann. So, fair.

"I know you just got here from the 1950s in your time machine, so I'll let that slide," Newt says, giving Hermann his own up and down. "Is that why you're over here? Waiting for someone to fill up your dance card?"

Hermann snorts. "Not much for dancing, I'm afraid. Not since... the accident," he says morosely, motioning to the wall. Only now does Newt see the cane propped up against it.

Newt's mouth pops open, his face heating up like an oven. "Oh, fuck, oh shit- I'm sorry, I'm an ass," Newt stammers, flailing for some excuse that doesn't make him look like a total douche bag (so much for not putting his foot in his mouth) when Hermann's face does a complete 180, mouth breaking into a smile, wrinkles at the corners of his eyes crinkling up. Damn. Damn, that's- wow.

"I'm having you on. Apologies, I couldn't help myself," Hermann says, shaking his head. "About the accident part, not the cane. I've had it since childhood. I'm still quite limber, I can assure you."

That word Hermann chose. Limber. It could mean one thing, but it could also mean _another_  thing. Hmmmm.

"Newt," Newt says, sticking a hand out. Hermann grips it firmly and shakes, and if Newt holds on just a little longer than is socially acceptable, letting his fingers brush against the inside of Hermann's wrist as he pulls away. If Hermann notices, he doesn't react. "I mean, technically it's Doctor Newton Geiszler, but only my mother calls me that. I demand my students call me Doctor G, since I can't get away with just Newt to them. Can I call you Hermann?" he asks, breezing right past the warning Pentecost had given him.

"I prefer Doctor Gottlieb, but I suppose, if I might call you Newton, that's fine. More equitable that way," Hermann says, shrugging.  He picks up the cane and steps to the side as a trio of professors breaks off from the crowd to utilize the drink table. Newt moves around them, following Hermann, who takes one of the empty chairs near the door.

"So," Newt says, sitting next to Hermann, presuming that their conversation hasn't ended. "You settling in?"

"Mmmm," Hermann says, sipping his drink. "It was a rather hurried affair, but I managed to secure a flat in a quiet area uptown."

"Yeah, that's the nice part of the city. I moved up there over the summer, since they finally bumped my pay up to cover the cost of rent. I heard you were hired full time. Pretty impressive," Newt notes, keeping his eyes locked on Hermann as he takes a sip from his cup.

Hermann smiles, looking down at his own cup. "Thank you. I'll spare you any pretended humility or protestations that I got lucky. I'm very talented in the fields of mathematics and physics and there were multiple competing offers to hire me."

Newt laughs. "Yeah? Some people might call that arrogance, Hermann."

"Some people, Newton?" Hermann challenges.

"Never said I was one of them," Newt counters. "Some people might call teaching full time while working on another PhD insanity."

"Really?" Hermann raises his eyebrows. "Hmmm. I'd call it a passion for attaining knowledge. One I can get behind, though it seems I tend towards depth while you towards breadth."

Newt grins. "See, if only my academic adviser had listened to you, I might've been able to start my adjunct teaching a few years earlier."

"What a fool," Hermann agrees, smiling back. "Seems at though you showed them, though."

"I don't tend to let other people's opinions get in the way of what I want. I'm very _persistent_ ," Newt drawls, giving Hermann another sizing look up and down. This time, Hermann definitely notices, or he's a lightweight and the flush of red on his cheeks is the alcohol finally kicking in. 

"Persistence can be an admirable trait." Herman smirks. "Depending on what you're being persistent about." Oh, fuck, god, he's even more handsome when he's matching Newt's low-key flirting.

"So, uh, your accent," Newt says, changing the subject for the time being. The way Hermann speaks is extremely dry, extremely old fashioned. Not the kind you'd pick up naturally from childhood. "You're not actually British, are you?"

"Astute," Hermann compliments. "I had a bit of a love of British television as a child. Lots of Regency era dramas, playing as a boy, imagining myself as some noble gentleman. The accent stuck, and I've never been able to get rid of it when speaking English. I'm originally from Berlin."

"No shit!" Newt says. The exclamation makes Hermann raise an eyebrow. "I was born there. Dad moved us to the States when I was about eight. My German's rusty and I lost my accent entirely, but I can still hold a conversation."

Hermann smiles again. "And here I thought I'd be the only one in a room full of Americans. If I get homesick, I might request you practice those skills." Newt notices how his shoulders have slowly been migrating downwards, tension leaking out of him like cool water. Now that he's relaxing, Newt sees an easy grace in the way he moves his arms, and crosses one leg over the other, shifting to turn slightly towards Newt. _Limber_ , Hermann had said he was limber, Newt's traitorous, sex starved brain reminds him. 

"Hey, sure, any time you'd like," Newt says to Hermann, and then, just because he can't help himself, he smiles slyly and says, "We're both skilled professionals. I'm sure there's a lot we could teach one another."

"Oh?" Hermann says, eyebrows flying up to his hairline, but his lips are trembling with a suppressed laugh. There's no way he's oblivious, which is confirmed when he replies, "Do you offer such... _lessons_ to every new faculty member?"

"No," Newt says, shaking his head. He doesn't need a reputation for being desperate. "Just the ones who I think might be up for it. Only if you're interested, of course."

Hermann seems to consider this. His cane taps metronomically on the linoleum, his eyes wander up to the ceiling, slightly to the left. Newt tries to remember whether people are supposed to look to the left or right when they're coming up with a lie. He can't remember. Fuck, that psychology doctorate was too long ago.

"You're certain... I'm someone you'd be interested in teaching?" Hermann asks. His tone is so questioning, like he's never been propositioned by a fellow academic five minutes after meeting them.

Newt slips his hand from his own knee, sliding across the few inches between their knees, to rest it on Hermann's. Hermann's eyes flash down and back up.

"If I wasn't, I wouldn't be asking," Newt answers honestly.

Hermann turns slightly pink, biting his lip. It's cute. It could be hot, depending on the context (the context being in Newt's bed).

"Do you want to get out of here?" Hermann asks, finally. Now it's Newt's turn to have his eyebrows fly into his hairline. He wasn't expecting that sort of boldness. Huh. There's more to Hermann than he first appears.

" _Abso-fucking-lutely_ ," Newt agrees.

~

They take an Uber to Newt's place, seeing as Hermann's apartment is still in the midst of being unpacked. Newt avoids jumping him in the car; not that he's opposed to the idea, but he gets the feeling Hermann isn't the kind of dude to enjoy starting foreplay in a public place. They have an amicable chat on the way there. Newt lets tidbits of his life slip out: his family life growing up, his academic career, his weird hobbies and passion for monster movies. Hermann also volunteers some information: one of four siblings, very strict parents, a sheltered childhood.

When they get to Newt's apartment building and step into the elevator, Newt turns around and puts his palms flat against the elevator door on either side of Hermann, leaning up and kissing him. He worries a second, because maybe Hermann really is that oblivious, maybe he really did think this was going to be something platonic and collegiate. Those worries are swept away when Hermann grabs Newt's tie and kisses back, teasing his tongue into Newt's mouth. Oh fuck, that's nice. His body agrees with that assessment, a throb rocking his lower half.

Hermann pulls his head back, licking his lips. "We're not even at your apartment," he says.

"This is semi-private," Newt argues. He hears the ping of the elevator doors and loops his arm through Hermann's, tugging him back upright as they open. "Come on. I'm not much farther."

When Newt gets to his apartment door, he puts the key into the lock. Then he remembers what sort of state his place is in.

"Just- hold on. Two minutes," Newt excuses, slipping inside. He speeds around, yanking dirty clothes off the couch and tossing them into the hamper, or at least near it, tossing a bag of empty chips into the trash, and flattening out the comforter on his bed (thank God he washed the sheets last week). A quick spray of something scented around the rooms, and it's... passable.

Newt opens the front door, smiling when he sees Hermann still standing there patiently. "Good, you didn't run screaming into the night," Newt says, stepping aside to let Hermann in.

"I considered it," Hermann quips, looking around as Newt shuts the door. "This is... nice."

"Liar," Newt teases, pushing Hermann up against the door. "I'm too busy to worry about cleaning. Important science to discover." He stifles any potential protestation with another kiss, wrapping his arms around Hermann's neck, attacking his mouth with abandon. 

Hermann tastes like the mixer punch, but also breath mints. Newt didn't see him sneak any in the cab, but he tastes a bit of the chalky mint as he laps into Hermann's mouth. Oh, Hermann was making his own preparations outside while Newt was making them inside.

"I- oh, Newton," Hermann mumbles between kisses. Newt trails his fingers down Hermann's sides, and Hermann shudders, gripping his tie. "H-haven't done anything like- like this before."

"Mmmmm, have sex?" Newt quips. "-'s cool. I teach all levels."

"Not that," Hermann says, hauling Newt back by the tie for a moment. Damn, that was sexy. "Just, accepting the proposition of a man I've known maybe an hour. Going to his home without informing anyone where I've gone. For all I know, you might be planning on murdering me and chopping my body up into a thousand pieces."

"That would really cut into my plans to stay in this job forever," Newt counters. "People probably saw you leave with me. If you went missing, I'd be the first suspect." Hermann doesn't look nervous, so he's probably just trying to work out why he's doing something so out of the ordinary. This isn't exactly normal for Newt either, but it's also not unheard of. Newt sighs. "Do you need to stop? If this is too much, we can-"

Hermann pulls him forward by the tie, smashing their lips together. Newt winces, because it's a little painful and a little rough, but sometimes rough is nice. "No. I- I want you to... to _screw_  me," Hermann says when he pulls back, eyes wide, looking both delighted and terrified to have said it.

Newt snorts and grips Hermann's hips, starting to walk backwards "Guess we're getting to the advanced courses already."

They make it to the bedroom without tripping over anything, which Newt counts as a success. If Hermann has an issue with Newt's mess, he doesn't mention it. He lets Newt nudge him onto the mattress, crawling back until he's lying sprawled across it. Newt is polite and rests Hermann's cane against the nightstand. He doesn't expect it will stay balanced there long, with what he's planning to do to Hermann. Then Newt climbs onto the bed, straddling Hermann's lap.

"So, when you say screw, we're talking penetration, right?" Newt asks, casual as can be. He rests his hand directly over Hermann's groin and pushes, smirking when Hermann's eyelids flutter and he sucks in a breath.

"Yes, if you're amenable to it," Hermann says, nodding.

"Oh, definitely amenable," Newt replies. "Just want to make sure we're on the same page. And when you say you want _me_  to screw _you..._ " Hermann gives Newt a pointed look. "Yeah, okay. Can I undress you?"

"Erm, I suppose," Hermann says, flushing. "I mean, if it's necessary."

"I wanna see you," Newt says, simply, honestly. He's interested to find out what lies beneath. An hour ago he didn't know this man from Adam, and now he wants to kiss and lick every square inch of his body. Well, there could be worse ways to spend a Friday night.

Newt helps Hermann scoot up to rest against the pillows at the headboard. It's easier to let Hermann tug his sweater off, revealing the green button down and black tie underneath. The sweater gave Hermann some bulk; without it, he's quite lanky. Newt tugs at the tie while he goes back to kissing Hermann. They've slowed down their pace, but Newt isn't concerned. The slower they go, the longer they can draw this out, and Newt would really like to draw this out. It's been too long since he's had somebody in his bed, longer still since they've been this interesting.

Hermann's touch is less certain, but with enough motivation, soon he too is tugging off Newt's tie and unbuttoning his shirt. Hermann's got a white tank on underneath his button down, while Newt sports a black t-shirt. With more skin to explore, Newt dips his head to lap his tongue across Hermann's collarbone. Hermann shudders and drops his head back.

"I like that," Hermann breathes out, and Newt does it again.

Newt kisses and licks up Hermann's neck for a while. The man is wildly sensitive, making pleased noises easily, giving feedback freely. Hermann squirms and shifts and Newt feels a firm length nudging his inner thigh. Fuck, he wants to get his mouth on that. No man with any sense rejects the offer of a blowjob, right?

"Newton," Hermann says. Newt lifts his head. Hermann runs his fingers up the length of Newt's arms, tugging at the edges of his t-shirt. "Could I see what's underneath?"

Newt grins. "Yeah, of course," he says, and in a smooth, graceful move that he will never be able to pull off again, he tugs his shirt off with one hand and tosses it aside. The swirls of colorful scenes of aquatic life mixed in with roaring movie monsters and a few beloved video game characters cover him from collarbone to hips, a narrative of his life on display for anyone who is privileged to get this far (or who happens to be at the beach on the right day).

Hermann traces his fingertips on the outline of Mothra flying up his left pectoral. Newt shivers, wetting his lips. It feels so good to be touched again. Especially when the person doing the touching is doing it with a kind of reverential gentleness. Hermann looks fascinated; Newt would be happy to explain the meanings behind any tattoo -- well, most of them, because some have meanings too personal for someone he's just met to know -- but that's a thing for later.

"Now your turn," Newt says, motioning to Hermann's tank top. "Fair's fair."

Hermann nods switfly, and tugs his tank top off. There's nothing but pale, smooth skin from neck to hip, with splashes of chest hair down Hermann's sternum. His arms are surprisingly well-muscled, one slightly larger than the other. He probably needs to make sure he's got enough strength to bear his weight, and if he's working out one arm, might as well the other.

"Damn," Newt says, gliding his fingertips down the center of Hermann's chest. "I was kind of hoping you'd have some secret tats under here."

"Voluntarily inflicted body modification isn't much my style," Hermann gruffs, cupping the back of Newt's neck. "However, I now see the appeal... you're quite handsome with these."

Newt grins. "Yeah? You like sleeping with tattooed bad boys, Hermann?"

Hermann snorts. "It took less than thirty seconds to figure out you weren't a 'bad boy,' Newton." He smothers Newt's protest with his lips, bucking upwards, and this time it's Newt's turn to gasp.

Skin to skin feels so fucking good, even if Hermann is kind of an icicle. An icicle with a devilish tongue, lapping at the corners of Newt's mouth, curling up the shell of his ear, teasing down the edge of his jawline. Okay, even if Hermann hasn't done this kind of thing before -- and Newt's not entirely ready to believe that -- he's certainly done _some_  kind of thing. He's not inexperienced. Not that Newt is some kind of sex god or anything, but Hermann seems to match him in ferocity and enthusiasm. It's nice.

When Newt reaches for the button of Hermann's slacks, Hermann's hand catches his wrist. "Protection?" Hermann mumbles against the curve of Newt's neck.

"Mmmmm," Newt agrees, sitting back. "Yeah, one sec." He leans precariously over to the nightstand and yanks the drawer open. It's chaos inside; he has to dig through gum wrappers, nail clippers, a stack of forgotten student papers, and his Nintendo 3DS before he snags the half-open box of condoms in the back. The lube's a lot easier, already sitting on the nightstand (he has no shame about that; he knows who he is as a person).

Hermann pulls out one condom and lets Newt do the honors of popping the button of his pants and unzipping the zipper. Newt keeps his hands back as Hermann draws himself out, a little hesitant -- which is pretty cute -- but not too hesitant. Hermann's cock is fairly pale, reddish at the head, and pretty damn girthy. Good length too, a tad longer than Newt's.

"Gonna be a shame I won't get to ride that," Newt observes, watching Hermann tear the wrapper and roll on the condom. "Can I blow you? Like, just for a little bit."

"If you like," Hermann says, leaning back. "Not too long, though, please."

Newt dives down as soon as he's given permission, sucking the head into his mouth. Hermann moans, and one hand digs into Newt's hair while the other steadies against Newt's shoulder. That's perfect, since one of Newt's not-so-secret turn-ons is getting his hair pulled. Hermann's got a good grip. Newt slides his lips down a little farther, ignoring the chemically taste of pre-lubricated latex. Hermann's hand grips tighter.

Hermann lets Newt set the rhythm, something slow and focused on a lot of tongue work. When Newt glides his tongue up the underside of Hermann's cock, Hermann arches up. When Newt slides his lips up to suckle the head and swirl his tongue into the slit, Hermann whimpers and squirms. Fuck, he's so fucking sensitive, and that's so fucking _hot_. Newt's own cock is impatiently throbbing, rubbing against the harsh denim, aching for some action. The anticipation drives Newt to more energetic movement, bobbing his head up and down while Hermann sighs and gasps and finally wrenches Newt off.

" _Enough_ ," Hermann rasps, all throaty, pupils dark and wide. "You're too bloody good at that."

"Fine... yeah, okay," Newt pants, wiping his mouth. "How do you wanna do this?"

Hermann allows Newt to tug his pants the rest of the way off, revealing more smooth skin, broken up by a jagged white scar running from hip to halfway down his thigh. Newt gives it a glance. He isn't going to ask, because a one-night-stand's physiological history isn't really his business, but Hermann supplies history anyway. "I wasn't entirely kidding about an accident," Hermann says. "There was one, but I've always hated dancing."

"You don't have to-" Newt says. Hermann presses a finger against his lips to silence him.

"I wouldn't be letting you do this if I felt you'd be unkind," Hermann explains. "Or if you'd begun treating me like a porcelain doll after seeing the cane."

Newt smiles. "You're confusingly attractive and willing to bone me. You're also a big boy and I assume you know your limits and will tell me if we reach them."

"And I appreciate that," Hermann says. "Now get on with it."

Hermann watches with an appreciative gaze as Newt removes the rest of his clothes. He rests his hands behind his head and trails his eyes down as more of Newt's colorful tattoos are revealed. Once Newt is fully naked, baring everything for Hermann, Newt pauses, considering. "What's easiest for you?" Newt asks.

"Just like this," Hermann replies. "As long as it's not on my knees."

"Gotcha," Newt says. He picks out another condom from the box and forgoes any attempt at being sexy while rolling it on -- he'll save the eroticism for when he's cock deep in Hermann's body. Once that's fitted, Hermann picks up the lube and holds it out. Newt holds up a finger and reaches over, back into the nightstand drawer, and rummages. After a moment, he pulls out a flash of blue latex.

"What's that?" Hermann asks. It's a question that's answered by utilization: Newt tugs the material down, encasing his hand in blue latex. Hermann blinks and then breaks into a high cackle, covering his eyes. "You're putting on a bloody nitrite glove to prep me, are you joking? Please tell me you didn't confiscate that from your laboratory supplies."

"Hey, I may look like the human personification of entropy, but I take safe sex seriously," Newt says, snapping the end of the glove against his wrist. "You seem like a by the numbers sort of guy. You should appreciate this."

"You could've let me do it myself," Hermann mumbles.

"What kinda guy would I be, inviting you into my bed and making you do the prep work?" Newt jokes. Truth be told, the glove is kind of a gag, but he thought Hermann would get a kick out of it. It's worth it, to see Hermann's face split into another dazzling smile.

As soon as Newt presses one finger into Hermann, the man makes a deep-throated noise and arches back with a dancer's grace. Despite being the guy who wanted to go slow ten minutes ago, Newt decides that the him from ten minutes ago was an idiot. Waiting is no longer an option. Newt works him open quickly, using way too much lube, and maybe he'll have to clean his sheets again tomorrow but if Hermann keeps twisting and gasping and squeezing around Newt's fingers -- a delicious preview of what's to come for his cock -- then that's just fine. More than fine; it's fucking _hot_  as hell. Newt's libido is beating a hurried drumbeat from his heart, down his spine, right through his dick. He needs to be inside Hermann, like, _yesterday_.

" _Enough_ ," Hermann gasps again, commanding and pleading in one paradoxical word. Newt pulls his fingers out and snaps the glove off inside out, tossing it in the general vicinity of the garbage can. His hand is covered in a thin layer of powder that's easy enough to wipe off against the sweat starting to gather on the jut of his hip. He grips Hermann's thighs, pushes them back and out, and lines himself up.

"Tell me if I need to stop," Newt says, right before he goes.

"Need you to bloody start fir- _ah_!" Hermann squeaks as Newt pushes, the head of his cock sliding into the tight heat of Hermann's body. " _Ah, ah, ah_!" Hermann goes in tempo with each little thrust. It's kinda hilarious but also super hot. The man is tight in a way only virgins or the sex-deprived can be. It feels so fucking good, every inch forward, and Hermann seems to be enjoying himself. His fingers claw at the sheets, and his right hand finds Newt's wrist where it rests against the bed. He grabs on, the sudden touch shocking Newt, making him jerk forward hard, sliding the rest of the way in.

"You okay?" Newt asks. God, Hermann's so tight, Newt's trying not to bust a nut right now. That would be embarrassing as hell.

"J-just been a while," Hermann pants. "I need a moment."

"Okay. Just stay still?" Newt asks.

"Mmmm. You, you might kiss me," Hermann says. His eyes have been jammed shut ever since Newt started pressing into him, and now they flutter open. "Kissing would relax me."

"That's not the usual reaction I get from kissing," Newt quips, but he leans down anyway, licking into Hermann's mouth. Hermann wraps his arms around Newt's neck. He lets Newt take the lead -- a nip of teeth here, a tease of tongue there. Hermann was right, in that once they get focused on the kissing, Hermann's body relaxes, tightness releasing. When he no longer feels in danger of a premature end to the proceedings, Newt withdraws and thrusts in one smooth stroke. Hermann moans into Newt's mouth and pushes his lower half up eagerly.

"That's nice," Hermann says, gasping on the second thrust. "Yes, just like that..."

"Yeah?" Newt mumbles. He grips Hermann's hips, one in each hand, finding the man malleable, easy to move as he rocks forward. The place where their bodies meet is hot and slick with lube and sweat. The air around them is still and cool, but Newt is burning up, skin to skin, breathing the same air as Hermann, barely coming apart before they're back together. Hermann's heels dig into the small of Newt's back. Newt grunts, surging forwards, and Hermann lets out a yell.

" _Scheiße_ , yes!" Hermann yelps. "Oh keep going, don't stop now..."

"Wasn't planning on it," Newt slurs, pleasure drunk as he slips in and out of Hermann. The other man is obviously practiced in receiving with the way he meets Newt's motions with a tandem response. It's so deliciously smooth, nothing forced or awkward in the way Hermann arches up towards him, clenches at each thrust, relaxes at each retreat. It's almost like a dance, wherein Newt leads and Hermann knows to follow. "Fuck," Newt pants, finding space to speak between their continuous kissing. "Y'feel so fucking good, dude."

"Likewise," Hermann responds. His thighs are trembling held aloft. Newt grips under his knees for support and spreads him wider, sinking lower on the next thrust. Hermann moans desperately, wantonly. Newt has to stay there for a minute because good fucking _god_  that noise almost drove him over the edge.

"Hermann, I, I'm not gonna last-" Newt says, feeling shitty, because usually he can make a better effort to hold off his orgasm. It's just that Hermann is squirming and moaning in all the ways Newt likes, and he's unnaturally capable of meeting Newt's rhythm, and he's super fucking hot all wrecked and sweaty like this... and it's been too long since anybody looked at him the way Hermann looks right now.

Hermann nods, panting and leaning up to press his lips to Newt's jaw. "Go ahead," he murmurs. "I want it, I want you."

" _Fuck_!" Newt yells and lets loose, snapping his hips frantically now, too eager to feel, kissing Hermann blindly, too eager to taste, until it all ends in a crescendo that leaves Newt burying his face in Hermann's shoulder and muffling his yell, while Hermann wraps his arms around Newt's head and shouts obscenities in German. Newt's orgasm barrels through him, and with a few encouraging words, Newt manages to thrust firmly enough to drive Hermann over the edge a few moments later.

Newt is polite. He doesn't collapse on top of Hermann immediately. He gently slips out of Hermann, rolling to the side and flopping onto his back. He stares at the ceiling, blinking, and swears he can see stars.

"Holy fucking _shit_ , Hermann," Newt says. His voice is hoarse, exhausted as his body feels. "What the fuck was that?"

"I believe it's called sexual intercourse in English, Newton," Hermann quips. Newt snorts and nudges his shoulder affably. "Particularly good intercourse, but intercourse nonetheless."

"Yeah, yeah that was... awesome. Go team." Newt raises a hand, glancing over at Hermann, who rolls his eyes but gives Newt the high-five he's aiming for.

"Do you mind if I use your bathroom?" Hermann asks, sitting up. "Your use of lubricant was a tad excessive."

"What? Oh, yeah, go ahead," Newt says. He closes his eyes, waving Hermann off. "Use whatever you need."

Newt dozes while Hermann uses the bathroom, jerking awake when Hermann sits down on the edge of the bed. He's put on his boxers and is fishing around on the floor.

"Whatcha doing?" Newt asks, rolling onto his side, one eye open.

"Just gathering my things," Hermann replies. "I'd like to get home before midnight."

Newt opens his other eye, lifting his head. "You're leaving?"

Hermann pauses, glancing at him. "I... presumed I should?"

Newt shrugs. "Up to you. It's late, 'm not gonna kick you to the curb, man. You can crash here if you wanna."

"Here..." Hermann frowns, resting his hand on the rumpled sheets. "On your couch?"

Newt rolls his eyes. Leave it to a guy like Hermann to think that as soon as the fucking is done, they should go back to being strangers. "Couch, bed, whatever. You're not planning on, like, stabbing me and taking all my shit, right?"

"It would be difficult to get away with, considering, as you said, multiple witnesses saw us leave together," Hermann admits. He twists around and lies back down on his side, facing Newt, leaving about a six inch gap between them. They blink at one another for ten seconds of awkward post-coital silence.

"This feels awkward," Newt offers.

"What do you normally do after sex with men you've known for a few hours?" Hermann inquires.

Newt frowns. "Pretty presumptive of you, thinking this is a normal thing for me."

Hermann raises an eyebrow. "It's not."

"I'm not saying it's never happened. I'm just saying, you shouldn't presume."

"Fine. So... hypothetically, what do you assume people do after a one night stand?"

"Probably... sleep. Maybe wake up in the morning and fuck again. Then get dressed and part ways and move on with their lives?"

"So is that the plan?" Hermann asks. "Just pretend this never occurred?"

"I mean..." Newt sighs, rubbing his eyes. "Look, I'll be honest. Nobody I've ever done this with has given any indication they wanted otherwise."

"It would be hard," Hermann muses. "Pretending. We work for the same university. We would see each other around the campus."

"It's a big university," Newt argues. "We aren't in the same department, and the STEM building is gigantic. Give it enough time and I'll just be that guy you fucked once and occasionally pass in the hallway."

"That's what you want, then?" Hermann asks. The way he asks it sounds uncertain, like he's not sure it's the right question.

Newt closes his eyes. "What I want right now is to go to sleep. I'm tired and I just jack-hammered you into my mattress. Forgive me for not wanting the twenty questions routine right now."

He hears Hermann sigh. "Goodnight, then," Hermann says, and all falls silent again.

Newt stays awake for a while, thinking. What does he want? What could he possibly expect? He thought this was just going to be a chance to get his rocks off, screw an appreciably handsome dude. Did Hermann do this presuming something else?

Maybe he should figure out these answers now, rather than later. But he falls asleep before he can.

~

In the morning there's a warmth pressed up against Newt's cheek, chest and thigh, and draped over his hip. Opening his eyes reveals a wall of pale skin. He blearily realizes that somewhere during the night, he and Hermann migrated towards each other across the expanse of the bed.

Newt shivers as Hermann shifts his leg. Hermann's thigh presses forward, rubbing against Newt's inconveniently apparent morning wood. "Careful with that," Newt mumbles.

"Should I stop?" Hermann mutters, voice clear, unlike Newt's which is heavy with sleep. Hermann's clearly been awake for a few minutes. When Newt says nothing, Hermann pushes harder, and Newt lets out a hoarse gasp.

"No, that's, keep doing that," Newt replies.

They take it slow, trading kisses and rubbing against one another lazily, no rush. Newt mumbles about condoms and Hermann tears one open, helping Newt roll it onto himself in his half-asleep state before gripping him firmly and starting to stroke. The steady rise of arousal drags him further into wakefulness, and leaves him whining into Hermann's shoulder and raking his nails down Hermann's arms. It's easy and comfortable, and when Newt comes he rests for a few minutes, content, before slipping down the bed with another condom, rolling it onto Hermann and swallowing him down for a lazy morning blow job. Hermann strokes Newt's scalp sweetly while he teases Hermann out, and drags him up for a messy kiss afterwards.

"Thank you," Hermann says, eyes still shut, forehead to forehead with Newt. "This was nice."

"Breakfast?" Newt asks. Hermann opens one eye. "I can cook... eggs. Toast, too."

"Mmmm... alright." Hermann nods. "Eggs will do."

Newt shucks on a T-shirt with his boxers and trods into the kitchen, yawning and rummaging through the fridge. Hermann appears a few minutes later, wearing pants but missing his sweater and button-down. Newt blinks and holds up the egg carton. "How many?" he asks.

"Two, if you would," Hermann says.

Newt cracks the eggs into a bowl while Hermann examines a pile of papers on the kitchen table. "Research?"

"Mmmm. Newest paper, just the draft," Newt explains.

"Do you mind if I look it over?" Hermann asks.

"Knock yourself out," Newt replies.

Hermann slides into a chair and spends the rest of the time Newt takes cooking the eggs to read the paper, flipping quickly through each page, clearly a speed-reader in some capacity. When Newt puts a plate down in front of him, Hermann mumbles a thanks and keeps his eyes on the page while he lifts the fork.

"You've done good on the math here," Hermann says, taking a bite. He glances up at Newt, who's taken a seat across from him. "And on the eggs."

"Thanks," Newt says, digging into his own plate. A night of sexual exertion has left him ravenous. "You like biology?"

"It's a bit messy for my scientific tastes, but it serves it's purpose." Hermann flips a page, eyes moving back and forth, snapping like the ribbon of a typewriter. "I can tell that you love it just from how you write about it."

Newt grins, blushing slightly. "I mean, it's the first doctorate I got, and the one I'm currently utilizing."

Hermann raises an eyebrow. "You said you were working on another one... how many doctorates do you have, exactly?"

Newt looks towards the ceiling. "Uh... six? I have... a lot of interests."

"I may have to reassess my previous compliment about your love of learning," Hermann says, smirking. "There's learning and then there's an inability to focus."

Newt flips him off, but there's no malice behind it. "Some of us like to be well rounded, math man."

"Physics explains the makeup of the universe. It's vital to understanding the world. Numbers are the handwriting of God, Doctor Geiszler," Hermann says, turning his eyes back to the paper.

"You and God were on a first name basis last night," Newt teases.

Hermann snorts, biting back a smile. "So you say, Newton."

It's such a soft expression, a soft moment. Newt swallows, watching Hermann sitting at his kitchenette, relaxed and inquisitive, eating his eggs, enjoying his company, bringing a warmth to the room that hasn't been there for quite a while.

"Hey, Hermann?" Newt says. "You wanna stay a while?"

Hermann looks up. "How long were you thinking?"

"Long enough so this stops being a one night stand," Newt says.

Hermann smiles. "So, no awkwardly ignoring each other for the rest of our lives, then?"

Newt pushes up, leans over the kitchenette and presses a chaste kiss to Hermann's lips. "I've decided, that sounds boring and agonizing," Newt declares when the kiss ends. "So, dinner?"

Hermann snags the collar of Newt's T-shirt and pulls him back for another kiss. He laughs softly when they break apart. "Dinner would be lovely. You know, some people might think we've gone about this entirely the wrong way. Completely backwards."

Newt grins at him. "Some people are idiots."

**Author's Note:**

> Like this fic? Come find me on tumblr and twitter as nighthawkms!


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